


Awaken to the Dawn

by starstag



Series: Tell Them of my Courage [2]
Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brothers, Fix It, Friendship, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Injury Recovery, Platonic Love, Post-Canon, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:08:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23255221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstag/pseuds/starstag
Summary: Companion piece to The Meadow Grows Over! Thanks to @doasdie for the idea to tell this from Blake's point of view, it was a lot of fun to write!I have no idea how it got as long as it did! I guess you'll have to thank the COVID-19 quarantine for me writing half of this in a day and a half! Enjoy!
Relationships: Joseph Blake & Tom Blake, Lance Corporal Schofield & Lance Corporal Blake, Tom Blake & William Schofield
Series: Tell Them of my Courage [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672087
Comments: 12
Kudos: 46





	Awaken to the Dawn

The world was on fire. There was ash in the air, little floating spots of light, embers, whatever the damned things were called. The words wouldn’t come. An unimaginable pain radiated hot from his core, and now there was fire in the sky. 

Sparks, that's what they were. Sparks. Not that it mattered. He was dying, Scho had said so, in a voice that sounded deeply afraid. He’d deny the fear, if asked, but he wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions as he thought. 

It made Tom scared to hear it. The fear that poured from every thought felt unnatural, as if he couldn’t catch up to it, as if it were moving too quickly for him to really feel it. He was scared, scared of so many things he didn’t have the time to name them or think about them, so fast he could only breathe and even that was hard now. 

But Scho was there, right behind his field of view in a place he could not see. He was warm, his hands were shaking. He knew the way, and Tom had to trust that. He said he knew it. He said Tom was dying. He had to trust that too.

The unyielding pressure on his side was grounding, at least. The pain it caused was tremendous, and he’d tried to wiggle away from it at first, but Will’s hand hadn’t moved a bit. At least the ball of hot pain kept him tethered to consciousness. 

Will had lapsed into silence. What had he been saying? Something about how he knew the way. He wanted to hear more, to do anything to hear his voice, but he couldn’t find the strength. The words just wouldn't come, as if they were stuck somewhere deep in his chest.

Beneath his back, Will shifted very suddenly. “Scho?” He said, like a question, forcing the word out with a sharp exhalation. Had he asked something? He felt tired-no, it was more than that- unimaginably exhausted, and his memory felt slow.

There were other voices, and he blinked at the sky, unable to change the position of his head, clinging to the photo on his chest as if it would hold back the tide of hot blood. “Will?” He could barely get the word out, it felt like a nearly deadly effort just to squeeze the one syllable out of his lungs. The tangle of worry and fear was mounting in him again, threatening to pour over, and he craned his neck desperately in search of Schofield, in search of some sort of reply.

He didn’t respond, only sighed shakily, but the sound of his voice was still soothing to his fear. A shuffle reached his ears, a vibration in the earth through his back, and he realized Scho had been listening for. There were footsteps, and the sound of somebody speaking that Tom couldn’t quite make out. He wanted to ask Will who it was, but again the words wouldn’t come, his throat choked up around a knot of fear instead.

Will rose, hesitating for a second, slowly removing his legs from beneath Tom. He watched him go, a protest on his tongue that never quite left as he tried to make sense of his situation.

He closed his eyes in a slow blink, and when he opened them again it was as if an hour had passed. There were three men over him, no four. An officer, two soldiers, and Will. Had they made it? All the way through Ecoust and the woods? Had they made it to the Devons?

They were squinting worriedly at him, conversing, mouths moving too quickly for him to follow. The pressure on his side was hard and constant, a mounting buzz filled his ears. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes as he fought to think through the haze of crushing, unescapable pain. He focused on Will, on his face, lined with worry and a passionate desperation.

Then, all of the sudden, the officer getsured and he and Will stepped back leaving Tom with the soldiers. He balked wordlessly, his mouth open, his hand clenched around the photo resting on the wet cloth of his tunic.

Time passed in snapshots, rather than a continuous unrolling. He jumped from moment to moment without remembering the in-between, leaving him exhausted and frightened and terrifyingly confused.

Suddenly, he was being lifted. Blue sky swam in his vision, pitching from side to side. He screamed again. He hadn’t expected to have the strength, but the sound just squeezed its way out of his shallow lungs the second his body left the ground. It was thin and long and judging by the mumbled response utterly pitiful. A grey gaze settled over his vision and he was left panting, a numbness filling his head.

His hand closed over the stained picture on his chest. Schofield was no longer sitting, legs folded beneath his head. His hand was gone, his voice was far too distant.  
“Scho!” It came out garbled, thick and slow, half-swallowed in his throat.

There was no response and that slow creeping acceptance, forced on by weakness, was replaced by an abject terror. His leg lashed out, he was coughing, crying, choking on his words-at least until he wasn’t. The burst of energy deserted him quickly, leaving him feeling more empty than before.

“Hush, lad.” The soldier carrying his shoulders said softly. Tom could not make out the man’s face, nor could he remember where he had come from. He sounded worried, but it was not Scho’s honest, tender fear. This man did not know him, and was no comfort at all. “It’s alright.”

It wasn’t alright, of course it wasn’t, not at all, not even close. There wasn’t any hope in fighting, was there? He couldn’t remember the path that had taken him here, there was only the vague recollection of a barn and a plane, and the burning importance of the Devons. His brother. William Schofield.

“Scho!” He coughed it out again, throwing his head back, pushing all the air from his lungs. A wild panic seized him, making him shake and gasp for breath, though there was little else that he could do. 

There was more noise, all around him, and too much movement to comprehend. None of it was important ot comorting. A lightness took hold of his senses, a nonsensical confusion that he was curiously unworried by. Thoughts floated by slowly, in a muddled array, and he squinted at the faces in the picture, struggling to find the energy to remember the names that belonged to each figure. Mother. Joe.

The men carrying him grunted as he was lifted higher, higher, then a hard surface was against his back and a pale face was leaning over his, saying something he couldn’t comprehend. They were asking, asking, asking something of him, and he didn’t understand. Where was the barn? The house? 

He had to go, didn’t he? He had to rest a short while and then continue on with Scho, because the Devons needed their help. 

Gradually, he realized. Will was gone. He couldn’t see him, and hadn’t been able to for some time. He could just feel it. William Schofield was no longer with him. All of the sudden, the world seemed very unimportant. With a jolt, he began to move, and the green smudge of the farm fell away. None of it mattered, and he closed his eyes, letting himself go at last, no longer clutching to the pain and confusion of consciousness. The whole world blurred around him, sights and sounds and smells whirling into a deep, dark silence. 

He opened his eyes to a blinding light and a heavy, crushing exhaustion that threatened to drag his eyelids shut as soon as he had them open. The golden light felt like a cliche. If he had remembered everything that had happened, he might have thought he had died and gone to heaven.

But when Tom’s eye flashed open, he wasn’t thinking. He was screaming. The sound was raw and weak, more of a rough croak than a full-throated cry. A sudden, searingly intense wave of pain had thrust his body to wakefulness, and now he was bathed in blazing yellow light.

An avalanche of sensation cascaded over him: the cold of metal, the touch of cloth, hands on his arms and abdomen, noise and sound. The thick, clinging scent of blood draped over it all, underlaid by the sharpness of alcohol and the heaviness of iodine. His eyes couldn’t make sense of the movement around him, his ears couldn’t piece together a semblance of conversation from the noise, he could only thrust back against the terrifying, erupting pain. For a moment, it was just that awful wash of light and the sound of his own harsh sobs, and then he was crashing abruptly back into unconsciousness. Alone.

Waking came slowly, the next time. It was a rough, disoriented sense of awareness dredged up from the empty husk of a mind left too long in a dark tangle of pain and sleep, and it certainly felt like it. For a long while, he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes, and lay uneasily in perfect stillness, slowly becoming increasingly conscious of the rise and fall of his chest and the pain in his belly that seeped out into the rest of his body.

At long last, despite the cold, gnawing confusion and fear, a grey boredom settled over his thoughts and they became more clear. With lucidity, however, came a greater awareness of all the ways in which he was uncomfortable, and all the ways in which things had gone frightfully wrong.

His eyes snapped open. 

It didn’t come as a surprise when he saw Joe at the bedside, more or a relief. All the worry left his body in one great flood threatening to send him to tears if he hadn’t been dreadfully exhausted. 

His brother was crying, or had been, and had almost done a good job of hiding it. He merely smiled upon noticing that Tom has awake, seeming too tired to be surprised. “Ah.” He said softly. “Done sleeping?”

He nodded. What else was supposed to do, to say? The empty space between them was begging for an explanation for something to fill the silence, so he opened his mouth to speak.

“Joe, I-”

He was cut off as his brother’s face folded into a barely-contained sob and Joe all but fell out of his chair and across Tom as he gathered him up in his arms. His embrace was warm, distantly familiar, and he sank back into it. It was some seconds later when his mind finally caught up to the reality before him. 

“Careful! Don’t crush him!” It was a woman’s voice, a nurse, that sent Joe to his feet with a mumbled apology, and Tom was free to squint back in confusion. 

“Joe? What are you doing here?” The question took an effort, and he fell silent, though there were more words bubbling at the tip of his tongue.

With a sigh, Joe sat back again, hands folded over his knees. “I’m here to visit you, Tom. I thought you were dead, so when I heard you were alive, I-”

“So you’re alive?”

His brother gave him an odd look and nodded slowly. “Yes?”

A flood of guilt washed over him and he looked away. “I didn’t make it, I’m sorry. I couldn’t-”

“It’s alright!” Joe’s hand darted out, taking a hold of his arm with a gentle grip. “It’s alright, I made it, didn’t I?” He looked immensely sad for a moment, then continued. “You’re mate made it just in time. Will, isn’t it? Will Schofield?”

“Will? Where’s Will? He made it, why didn’t you say? Where is he now, is he alright?”

Joe looked slightly taken aback by his sudden energy and enthusiasm, but his smile widened and he patted the back of his hand reassuringly. “He made it, Tom. Just barley, but he did. I’m...amazed, honestly. He looked in a bad way, but he just managed to stop the attack. He found me right after we came back, and meant to tell me you were dead. Said he wanted to write to mum.”

The details of the story fell on deaf ears, and he pushed himself onto his elbows despite the sudden surge of pain. “Is he alright? Where is he now?”

“I…” He took a second to think, a moment in which Tom’s stomach plummeted. “He seemed in a bad way, like I said. So I went to check on him after nightfall, and he was still with the Devons. Seated by a tree, I don’t think he moved-”

“Is he alive?” Tom blurted. “Where is he now?”

“He was taken by a bad fever, and had a bad wound on his head. I had him taken up to the field hospital which,” He swallowed hard and seemed to be trying not to cry. “Which is where I found you.”

“Oh.” It was all he could think to say, so he reached out and gripped Joe’s hand with his own, as hard as he could. It seemed to help, and his brother ducked his head with a shaky sigh and just breathed for a long while before releasing it.

“I thought...I thought you were dead, Tommy. I thought you were gone.”

“Me too.” It wasn’t a joke, not really, but Joe still laughed at it, shaky and unsure.

“I’m amazed, really. And I..” He trailed off and swallowed hard. “I’m just glad you’re still here. You don’t go anywhere, you hear?”

He nodded back. “I don’t plan on it.” He paused, winced, and his heart ached at the expression that crossed Joe’s face to see him in pain. “You’ll write to mum? Since Will can’t?”

He nodded earnestly. “Of course, Tom. When I do, I’ll let you know and you can tell me what you want to say.”

“Think I’ll go home? Think I’ll get to see her?”

He sighed: a heavy, leaden noise that made him seem much older. “I don’t know. I’m sorry I keep saying that, but I just...don’t.”

For a moment, neither spoke, and the sounds of voices and movement from the field hospital filled the silence. The curtain fluttered nearly imperceptibly. Joe sighed again.

“Myrtle’s having puppies.” Tom whispered, and for a brief second the sorrowful weariness lifted from Joe’s face.

“Really? I got a letter, two days ago, was it? Haven’t had a chance to read it yet.”

Tom nodded, though even that hurt. “Myrtle’s having puppies, that’s what mum said, and I can’t wait to see them. What do you think they’ll look like?”

“Hmm.” Joe took a moment to think. He seemed distant and distracted, but his expression was a little lighter, and that set Tom’s heart at ease. “Probably spotty like their mum.”

“That’s what I thought. I told Will, too. He seemed happy.” Joe hummed in acknowledgement and nodded slowly. “Can you…”

Joe leaned closer. “Yes?” he said quietly.

“Can you go see him for me? Since I can’t? Tell me how he’s doing?”

His brother sat back and nodded solemnly. “Of course. If the doctors let me close enough.”

“It’ll be a dangerous mission.” He joked, quickly running out of energy. “It’ll be dangerous, but I think…” 

He didn’t get to finish, for then his Joe was gently pressing him back into the pillow with an expression of surprising tenderness. “Yes.” he whispered. “I’ll be able to make it. I’m not afraid. Tomorrow, yeah? Tomorrow I’ll go.”

“Good.” He nodded sleepily, but kept his fingers wrapped around Joe’s wrist. “Good.” He mumbled. “I’m not afraid either.” Suddenly, it wasn’t at all about Schofield. His brother only smiled kindly and let him hold his hand.

“I know.” He whispered. “You’ve very brave.” And just like that, he kept his warm hand resting on the sheets in Tom’s grip, and hummed softly as sleep drifted over him like a heavy blanket.

It was a nurse who woke him, gently and kindly, but with a manner that left no room for argument. It was bright, once again, and if he had been asked, Tom would not have known how much time had passed. 

Speaking, even being awake left him dizzy and drained, and by the time the surgeon came to check on him he could barely keep his eyes open. He listened to what the man said, nodded and squinted and immediately forgot it all. It wasn’t as if it really mattered, anyway. He was too tired to fight, too tired to be afraid. He only had enough energy to think of his brother and Will and the feeling of the soft sheets around him. 

He dozed, for a time, and woke ravenously thirsty and in immense pain. After croaking for water, the nurse was on top of him in mere seconds, with the doctor not far behind, but it was a few minutes before he was quiet and comfortable again.

By then, his brother had materialized in the space behind the curtain, and waited in silence until the nurse nodded for him to approach before departing with an encouraging smile.

“Joe, how’s Will?” It took a nearly physical effort to get the words out, but he needed to know. When he was awake, he’d thought of almost nothing else.

He laughed, more openly than before, and his face was more relaxed. “What, not going to ask about me?”

“You look fine!” It wasn’t true, as much as he looked relieved, his eyes were tired and his face had taken on a drawn, ashen appearance that made him look too old. 

“I had to go all the way back to the line, Tom. I still have a job, you know.”

He managed a tired grin. “Unlike me, who just gets to lounge around all day.”

Joe squinted dramatically as he slung his coat over the back of the chair. “I’ll allow it, just this once.” He sat with a sigh, shut his eyes and rubbed at his temples.

Tom waited, fingers twisting at the edge of the sheets. “So. How is he?”

“Oh.” With a weary groan, he leaned forward and frowned contemplatively. “Hard to tell, honestly.”

Tom halfheartedly pushed at his brother’s shoulder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I… I told him about you, about what happened.” He hesitated.

Tom leaned forward, as much as his stomach would allow. “And?”

“He was awake, Tom, but he’s very sick. He seemed very confused. I think he heard me, but I’m not sure he understood.”

“Oh.”

Joe frowned lightly and crossed his arms. “What is it, Tom? I can’t make him get any better.” His frown deepened and his eyes grew dark. “I Wish I could. I Wish I could make you all get better.”

“I know.” He shifted uncomfortably and exhaled sharply when a lance of pain shot through his abdomen. “I just wanted to visit him, that’s all.”

Joe’s expression softened, but the deep sadness remained. “Of course. Only natural.” he was ready to refuse, Tom could tell, and he silently let his face shift into the pleading expression that always got to Joe. It didn’t fail, and a moment later his brother’s lips twisted into a weary smile. “Alright, Tommy. I’ll see what I can do.”

He flashed a grin in return and lay back. “Thanks, Joe.”

A wheelchair was brought up later in the afternoon, and he woke from a deep doze to see it sitting by his bedside. A wild joy outpaced his surprise at the speed of its arrival, and was eager and antsy by the time Joe showed up again. He was helped into it by a nurse and wheeled across the hospital, with Joe walking ahead. His brother sat beside a bed, leaned forward in the chair and spoke to the man lying in it. Tom craned his neck to see past him, giddy with excitement and still surprised they’d even allowed him out of bed.

Suddenly, his brother stood and stepped back, reaching out to help him to his feet. William Schofield was prone against the white sheets, his hair dark and his eyes as blue as ever. His hand was bandaged, as was his skull, both wrapped round with many layers of white cloth. His forehead was slick with sweat. Tom’s smile fell from his face as he saw the shiver in his limbs and the vacant look in his eyes. 

Stepping closer, he cleared his throat to speak, and that was when Will’s gaze flickered over his face and realization dawned. His breathing grew fast and heavy, and he began to blink and twist in the sheets, his expression folding into fear and confusion, marked by passing horror. 

“Scho?” He said hesitantly, but if the man heard, he did not understand or respond, and continued to squirm and blink with that horrible expression of helpless uncertainty plain across his face.

Tom was whisked away in a moment by Joe and the orderly, and before he could utter a word, he was back in his bed with Joe standing over him, somehow looking more exhausted than before.

“What was that?” He asked. “Why...why wasn’t he happy to see me?”

“He…” Joe sighed, gripping the bridge of his nose. “He got hit in the head, quite hard. Or else he fell and smacked it. It’s not your fault, Tom, he’s bound to be a bit confused. He can’t help it.”

“Oh.” It still hurt, and he didn’t try to hide his disappointment. “What happened exactly?” 

“I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

“Will he be alright?” 

“I don’t know!” Joe’s voice pitched up sharply. “I’m not a doctor.” He sighed again, then gently pushed against Tom’s chest as he laid back down. “Come on, let’s let him rest. You need rest as well.” He nodded sullenly, and the rest of his brother’s visit passed in relative silence.

Days passed. Languid days of that felt utterly empty, though in reality they were not quite devoid of anything important. His brother returned, again and again, at the oddest hours looking more haggard each time he visited. Sometimes it was in the dead of night or so early in the morning the sun had barley risen. Other times he was trailing behind the latest batch of wounded soldiers taken in from the front. He never stayed long enough, and never spoke of what happened up the line, but each time he would hold Tom’s hand and speak of Will and their mother. Each time it seemed the same, leaving him with a nagging frustration clawing at the inside of his wounded belly. “No, Tom, he didn’t seem much better. No, he didn’t say anything to me. He was asleep, the nurse wouldn’t let me in. No, Tom, I haven’t received a letter. Yes, I would tell you if I did. I’m sure she didn’t die of shock, she’ll send word once she’s heard.”

Tom waited. Sometimes it felt like forever, and other days it seemed like he spent mere seconds awake. There were times he could barely keep his eyes open and others when he felt so full of energy he was nearly fit to tear the sheets away and go charging around the tent like a horse out to pasture. 

The wound itched and ached, pinched and burned and pierced, but no matter what he did he was always so aware of it. The exact spot where the cold steel had entered his body was so present and constant, he found it impossible to ignore. The actual thrust of the knife through his soft skin was a blurry, fevered haze, poorly pieced together, but the moments leading up to it were crisp and clear in his mind.

If only he’d been a few steps away, if the plane had crashed a few hundred yards off, if they’d left the pilot, if he hadn’t sent Will to get water...he could name a million ways it could have gone differently. Perhaps, if he hadn’t been such an idiot about it, he and Will would have made it together. Maybe then he wouldn’t be writhing in pain every night, the agony too intense to sleep. Maybe Will wouldn’t be fevered and unconscious, maybe his brother wouldn’t be so worn and worried. If he’d done just one thing differently, perhaps things would be marginally better. Not perfect, no, that was too much of a lie, but better...it was tantalizingly vague, and encompassed the glorious promise of everything that could have happened. 

The nurse checking his wound cleared her throat. He blinked rapidly and looked up at her, suddenly jolted from his thoughts. 

“You look in a mood.” She smiled pleasantly.

“My brother’s not come up today, and I haven’t heard any news about Will Schofield.”

“Well, I was sent to get you moving a bit, so I can’t see how a little trip over to see your friend would hurt.”

“You’d do that?” Just the idea of it was almost enough of a distraction to chase away any of his more troubling thoughts, and it must have been plain on his face, judging by the nurse’s amused expression.

“The way I see it-” She flipped back the sheets and gestured for him to move his legs over the side of the bed. “You need to get moving, at least a little. Why not go see your mate?”

She moved over to the head of the bed and reached down to help ease him into a sitting position. The motion was slow, and he winced more than once, but sitting straight with no support from the lumpy pillows felt so good that he found himself grinning. 

Standing was a struggle, one that took several minutes and the help of a passing orderly as well, but they got him on his feet and more or less supported him across the tent as the usual audience of injured young men looked on.

Leaving him sitting in a chair, she approached the bed and bent to speak quietly to Schofield. The covers shifted, but he couldn’t hear a response, so he waited in nervous silence. 

At last, she stood fully and turned to gesture to Tom. He scooted the chair forward and slid onto the floor, leaning on the edge of the bed. Will glanced around in obvious confusion, then his gaze settled on Tom and he started, lips parted slightly in an expression that was both lost and frustrated. 

“Hello.” He smiled gently in what he imagined was a comforting expression and waited for a reply.

His face shifted from a look of confusion to one of frustration and annoyance, and he swatted at Tom, nearly hitting him in the head. “Go away. Let me sleep.” He growled.

Tom gasped. “Will!” He exclaimed, the hurt of denial overriding any sane analysis that would remind him of the man’s dire head injury. Speaking his name seemed only to frustrate Will further, and he huffed in plain confusion and pushed at Tom, nearly shoving him over onto the floor. 

The nurse was quick to react, drawing him away. “Shh, now.” She said, taking him by the arm. “It’s alright, he’s just confused. Got hit in the head pretty hard. You come away, now. Let the poor man rest.”

Sullenly, Tom allowed himself to be led away, and not a moment too soon. His legs buckled as soon as he reached the bedside and he collapsed onto the mattress, his fall slowed by the nurse's deft arms wrapping around him just in time. 

He whined in discomfort as she checked the bandages and got him settled under the sheets, but was otherwise too tired to protest. 

“Why...doesn’t he like me?” It was an effort to get the words out, and even to his ear they sounded slow and sleepy. 

The young woman stood in thought for a moment. “It’s not you, Lance Corporal. He’s been through a lot, and it would be cruel to expect him to come out of it all unchanged. He’s healing, just as you are, and his head needs time to piece everything back together.”

“I’m sorry.” He whispered dejectedly, his face turning to a miserable frown. “I didn’t mean to be cruel to him.”

“Nonsense, not at all.” She soothed. “You care a lot about your friend, that’s clear as day, and I imagine he feels the same way for you, but a little patience is in order. For his wound, and yours as well.” 

She pressed a gentle hand to his chest and looked him dead in the eye. “Rest.” it was kind, yet intensely earnest. “You need it, same as he does. A few days, and then you can have all the time you want to visit until you’re sick of each other's company.”

He nodded, desperate to believe her, though dark thoughts still coiled at the back of his mind. She gave him a polite nod and departed quickly, leaving him to his musings as he drifted to a fitful sleep.

When he woke, Joe was back, looking somewhat more rested. He nodded happily upon seeing Tom wake. “Feeling better?”

He nodded wordlessly and rubbed at his eyes as he sat.

“Good, good.” Joe said softly between a suppressed yawn. “I’ve got some good news, if you’re awake enough to hear it.”

“Letter? Mum?”

Joe smiled sadly. “No, not yet. But is it about that friend of yours. Lance Corporal William Schofield.” He would have erupted out of his bed then and there had it not been for a look of warning from Joe, who held out a steadying hand and continued to speak. “He had a dreadful fever, but it’s finally broken. The surgeon’s looking in on him now.”

The brothers shared a glance, Tom’s wild hope mirrored in Joe’s reserved, weary contentment. 

“If the surgeon allows it, I can’t see why you shouldn’t be able to visit him later.”

Tom darted into a seated position so fast it left him grimacing in pain, with Joe and the orderly taking ahold of his shoulders to press him back. “Really? Can I go today?”

“I don’t know, Tom.” He sounded as fatigued as before, but there was a hint of humor in his voice that put him at ease. “Here, I’ll go see after him today so he doesn’t get a heart attack from you appearing, thinking you're a ghost. And if they allows it, I’ll come fetch you. I’ll not have you getting in a fight with the surgeon. Is that agreeable?”

He nodded rapidly. “Yes, more than agreeable.”

Joe pushed himself out of the seat with a weary sigh and bid him farewell, promising to return later that day. Tom watched him leave, already impatient. He barely paid attention to anything, waiting with bated breath for him to return.

He nearly leapt from the bed when at last Joe ducked past the curtain again, his hair a mess and his eyes dark with exhaustion, but a wide smile spread across his face. There was a nurse at his side, and he had only to nod and say “Come on, then.” for Tom to know all was well. 

Shaking with anticipation, he pushed back the sheets and sat, drawing a concerned sound from the nurse, but Joe seemed to have a read on his excitement and didn’t say anything to slow him down.

Together, the nurse and his brother helped him stand on shaking legs and cautiously take small steps, one by one, down the aisle. The other soldiers, or at least those that were awake, watched with curiosity or friendly amusement, offering words of encouragement.

Looking ahead, he could see Schodield sitting up in his own bed, and a grin immediately came over his expression. 

“Easy, Tommy, don’t rush it all.” Joe reminded quietly as he guided him to the bedside. Will watched their progress with a confused but curious expression, his eyes flickering between Joe and Tom and back again.

Joe cleared his throat and spoke to Will, his voice steady and even, a little slower and louder than his customary speaking voice. “Found him, finally. Thought you’d be interested in seeing Tom, since you’re feeling a little better now.”

Will didn’t seem to be really listening to Joe, he was staring straight past his shoulder and directly at Tom. Their gaze met as Joe stepped back, giving them space. His eyes were open, cool blue-grey and lucid, no longer clouded by confusion. 

Tom blinked rapidly, struggling to hold back a tide of emotion threatening to crest over in a sob. “Fancy seeing you here.”

He barley had the words out of his mouth before Will’s face knotted into an expression of shock and he pushed himself forward and over the end of the bed. Weak, wobbly, and unsteady, there was still an intense, wild determination in his eyes and he barreled straight into Tom, his hands fumbling for purchase. 

Tom gasped, a thousand words swallowed back down in surprise as he toppled into the chair behind him under Will’s clumsy embrace. It only lasted a moment, though to Tom it could have been a lifetime. Joe, not quite as keen on the possibility of re-injury for either men, enlisted two orderlies to haul back into bed. By the time he was settled back amongst the stark white sheets, he was blinking rapidly and holding his head at an odd angle, though his eyes remained locked on Tom. 

Swaying where he stood, Tom was guided to the bedside by the nurse where he sat carefully. Joe remained for a moment, a watchful eye on both soldiers as he placed a robe over Tom’s shoulders. 

“The two of you. You’ll be the death of me, of each other. No wonder you made it. Such tenacity!” He sighed dramatically, patted Tom on the shoulder and drew the curtain back as he stepped awak. Tom didn’t reply and didn’t turn to watch him go, he stared in silence at Will and he stared right back.

“Thomas Blake.” His voice was thin and soft, far quieter than what he was accustomed to, but it was Will, speaking to him, pale and tired but still alive. 

The pain from the wound rippled across his belly, but he refused to move, smiling until his cheeks hurt as they looked at one another. Will was staring at him with an intensity that was almost fierce, as if Tom would disappear if he looked away. He held Tom’s gaze, unblinking, and inched his hand across the sheets, towards the edge of the bed. Toward Tom's hand.

His heart jumped and he moved forward, letting their fingers brush. For a second, it was just that small point of contact, then Will moved to eclipse Tom’s hand with his own, laying it over top. It was warm and dry and a great weight seemed to shift from the man’s shoulders as their skin touched. He sighed and let his head lay back, some of the discomfort visibly dropping from his expression. 

It felt very real, all of the sudden. All of the things that had happened in the past few days fell into place, and for a moment he could comprehend the entirety of their actions and the sheer impossibility of it all. 

But it didn’t seem to matter. Will’s hand was covering his own, so present and alive, an unspoken question. He was squeezing, pressing back, and the contact did not hurt at all. 

“I’m here.” he whispered, feeling more alive and grounded than he had in days. “I’m here.”

Will didn’t answer and they sat in silence, Tom filled with a bright, boiling joy, and Will basking in quiet relief. 

“You made it.” He said at last, half-afraid to break the moment, and nervous to mention the mission, but it somehow seemed right. He felt non jealousy, only a soft amazement, and relief that what he said was true. 

“I did.” Acknowledgement. The look in his eyes held far more than what he could say in words.

He let his fingers curl into the sheets beneath Wills head as he nodded in response. “I thought if anybody would get to my brother, it would be me. Thought we would get there together.” He swallowed hard against a rising sense of inexplicable dread and shame. “Honestly, I thought when I was going that you would go back, that you didn’t...didn’t want to…”

Will’s response was a few moments in coming, and when he did speak it was quiet and hoarse. “Hmm. Not much choice in the matter, when I thought you’d come back and haunt me.” He rubbed a circle into the back of his hand, and the place where his thumb rested was warm. Tom shivered. “That was you, Tom, who pushed me. That was you. I couldn’t leave it, not when I thought-” He cleared his throat and blinked rapidly, lowering his gaze as Tom looked on. “I had to finish it, when you couldn’t.”

His voice broke on the first attempt to respond, so he nodded and settled for a soft “Thank you.” 

Neither spoke again, and lapsed into a deep silence. It wasn’t long before Will began to doze and Tom’s shoulders began to sag, and a pair of nurses arrived to fetch him back to his own bed.

Blinking sleepily, he didn’t have the energy or the will to put up a fight, even if he had wanted to. By the time he was returned to the now-familiar white sheets and pillow, his brother had left. It didn’t bother him too much, and he soon fell into a peaceful sleep, his mind pinned to the thought that Will was alright. 

He dozed until nightfall, and woke to see the hospital cast in the indigo light of dusk. His mind, at last, was quiet, and he passed a few comfortable moments laid out on his back, one hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady up and down of his lungs.

He let his mind relax and wander, focusing on the murmur of conversation beyond the curtain, on the sound of wind and footsteps, on the feeling of air on his skin, on nothing at all.

Then he quietly realized that for the first time in what seemed like forever, he felt better. Not by a lot, but it was a significant change from feeling worse or the same. The pain had subsided to something he could almost ignore, and although his limbs shook, when he felt he wanted to sit, they responded and he pushed himself up so his back was propped against the pillow.

Joe, of course was nowhere to be seen, and he felt a flash of panic about his whereabouts that quickly subsided. He would return, tomorrow, if he was able. 

Through a gap in the curtain, he could peek out into the hospital if he angled his head just right. It was a quiet sort of happiness that filled him up as he thought of how close Will was, not desperate joy or feigned cheerfulness. He smiled sadly and rolled onto his side, absently watching a nurse speaking to a young man with bandages wrapped around one ear. 

Will thought he was as transparent as a pane of glass, he knew that much. The jokes, the stories, the smiles...they were all real, yes, but it wasn’t like he knew how to hold himself together if he didn’t laugh and grin. Well, Will held him together, even if he didn’t know it. His brother didn’t understand. As much as he loved, Joe, it was clear he just didn’t get it. 

A tiny flash of panic sent him surging into a seated position far too quickly, and he folded forward with a groan, suddenly dizzy and lightheaded. The wound in his stomach protested the movement and he clung to the edge of the bed. Will was close by, yes, but still out of sight. 

He couldn’t protect him, that much he knew, but if he was able to see him, that was somehow better. 

Unsteadily, in the quiet of the oncoming evening, he pushed himself off the mattress and rose, shaking to his feet. Taking one step forward, he clutched at the edge of the curtain. It felt like it should have meant more, like he should have got a medal just for standing, just for staying alive. All the same, in a great contradiction, it felt like the silliest thing in the world, a useless gesture that stood for nothing. 

Still, if not for Will, he had to see his friend for himself, to calm the shaking in his hands, to close up the pit in his stomach, to make smiling feel easy again. 

Nudging the curtain aside, he took another step. The dusky light in the interior of the quickly-constructed hospital tent made everything feel slow and quiet. The shadows were long, the lantern light gentle, and he stood and breathed deeply. For a second, the pain in his stomach faded to the back of his mind and he almost forgot about it. 

He bit the edge of his lip and took another shaky step forward, using the foot of the next bed over as a support. The soldier laid out in it blinked sleepily at him and said nothing. It felt like the mission all over again, a warped and simple version. He had to find Will. Lance Corporal Will Schofield. Maybe this time he would succeed. 

He knew the way. He’d walked it, what, three times now? Four? He didn’t need a map, or the nurse, or his brother’s steadying arm. He just needed to find Will and see his face. 

It didn’t take long, and he felt rather stupid in the end, comparing it to saving the Devons. He stood before the curtain, hunched over slightly, catching his breath. A man coughed. A cart rattled down a row of beds, not too far off. Two soldiers conversed quietly, and he was left standing now knowing quite what to do or how to feel.

Scrunching his face up in frustration, he pushed the curtain aside in one jerky motion and stepped forward, standing at the end of Will’s bed. He was there, sure enough, clean and fast asleep. He wasn’t an old man, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he seemed to like to think so. There was something about sleep that softened his features, lifted away the fear and pain and all his dark muddled thoughts, and left him looking young and peaceful. 

In life, Tom had seen that expression just a few times, when he smiled. When he laughed. They were few and far between, and it made him sad to think just how rare those moments were.

A soft sound drew his attention: the hitch of breath, the silky shifting of sheets. Will was waking. It was slow and gentle, and Tom waited, for once finding no urgency to speak, instead just wanting to stand in the man’s calm presence. He blinked at last, lifted his head slightly, and focused his eyes on Tom.

A small smile pulled at the corner of Will’s lips. “Hey, Scho.” 

He nodded in response, and squinted at him, glancing past his shoulder as if looking for somebody. Of course Will was able to tell that he’d snuck off. Even with his brain only half in working order, he could read him as easily as an open book, and Tom found that he didn’t mind.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was still gravelly and rough, but Tom beamed at his response, feeling his heart leap again.

“Can I sit there?” He nodded at the bedside where Will’s arm was resting on top of the sheets. Not for the first time, he found himself longing for closeness, and even if it was a poor excuse that Will would undoubtedly see through, he couldn’t quite bring himself to voice it aloud. He bit his lip, standing halfway between the curtain and the bed, holding his breath.

Will, mercifully, only blinked in reply. “Alright, then.”

“Thanks, mate.” He smiled and gingerly settled onto the edge of the mattress as Will shifted to the side. Tom could see him watching out of the corner of his eye, blinking slowly, his gaze unwavering. It was a narrow bed, and the two of them were forced to lay side by side like sardines, Tom’s leg dangling over the side with his arms folded behind his head. It left Tom little room to himself, a fact that did not escape Will’s notice.

His heart sank. What if Will did not want his close presence, and was only welcoming out of a sense of obligation? What if he didn’t want him there at all, and was too tired to say so? “Not pushing you off, am I?” He asked quietly.

He gave his head one small jerk to the right. “No, ‘s fine. You’re side alright?”

Feeling a rush of relief, he let himself relax into the pillow. “Eh.” He shrugged. “Must be better now, if they’re letting me walk around like this. Hurts a bit, though I dare say you were in a worse pinch for a minute there.” Their bodies didn’t quite touch against his side, but their legs and arms were pressed together, and Will was warmer than a blanket and far more comforting.

“Hm?” He squinted at him, the expression of deep confusion returning to his face.

Tom broke into soft, bubbly laughter, though he expected it was impolite. “Still too bright, old man? Here '' He reached over the edge of the bed and adjusted the lantern to a dull flicker, casting the small space into a dim golden light and gently waving shadows. “Yeah, you were in rough shape for a bit. Hit your head, I heard. Pretty hard. And then you got real sick. I knew your hand wasn’t ‘nothing.’”

“It wasn’t important.” He groaned and curled closer to Tom, his back nearly hanging off the edge of the bed. With his face on Tom's shoulder, Tom went completely still, then carefully lifted his arm and draped it over Will’s shoulder. 

The last time they had been so close, his limbs had gone cold and numb and shaky, and the sky above him had swirled white and blue until it had fallen away to black. The only thing that had seemed to matter was the stained photograph clutched in his weak hands and the warmth of Will’s arms and the sound of his voice, no matter how afraid.

This was much better. He sighed softly, letting the dark memory wash away. “But it’s important now, innit?”

Will lifted his head and frowned, regarding the bandaged hand resting on his chest. “It wasn’t important then. Not like I could do anything about it. It’s only a little mark on my hand. You had to get a great big hole in your gut.” He gently jabbed a finger at Tom's stomach, which he batted away before it could make contact.

Tom laughed again, without the same sense of easy humor as before, and it quickly trailed off into silence. “Yes, I did.” A thought crossed his mind and he sat straighter, tapping Will gently on the shoulder. “Makes for a good story though, doesn’t it? Though I think yours is better. Not like you’d tell anybody, though.”

His eyes slipped shut for a moment. “My thoughts exactly.” He did not look particularly excited at the prospect.

Tom smiled to himself and poked Will in the ribs. “You will have to tell me what happened though.” He knew the man would cave and tell him eventually, stilted and cautious, but he’d wring the story out of them. Then, of course, he’d go off and tell all his mates in great dramatic detail, and Will would pretend to be annoyed, but wouldn’t really be. That was the Will he knew, and that was the Will curled up by his side.

“Not now, you’ll hear it when I can keep a thought straight for longer than a minute.” He sighed tiredly, but he’d already relented, and Tom’s smile stretched into a grin.

He hadn’t really changed, had he? It was the same Will he’d crossed no-man’s land with not a few days before, the same Will he dragged from the collapsing tunnels? He was tired, yes, and wounded, but his eyes were the same. Weren't they? Tom adjusted his position, feeling the mattress shift beneath him. “But you will tell me, won’t you?” He tried to hide the desperation in his voice and likely failed.

Will was too kind to say if he had noticed. “Yes.” He insisted. “Now be quiet or move to your own bunk.”

“I’ll be quiet.” Tom huffed. “I can be quiet.”

“Well, then show me.” He shut his eyes and settled into the pillow. “And turn off the lamp.”

Slowly, watching that he did not disturb Will, he stretched over and twisted the knob on the lamp, dimming the golden light until it was gone, leaving the indigo of dusk in its place. The posture pulled at his wound, but he sucked in his breath and bit his tongue, hoping that Will did not hear. 

What did Will think of his wound? Of finishing the mission alone? He laid his head back, cheek just resting on Will’s shoulder and swallowed hard. Had their places been changed, what would he have done in Will’s place? Unlikely, though, that Will would have been stabbed in the first place. He’d been naive enough to try to save the pilot, and what had he gotten in the end? Forced Will to carry on alone, hadn’t he? And he hadn;t even been able to save his own brother in the end. 

That’s what Will and Joe saw in him, wasn’t it? Just a naive boy who knew nothing, could do nothing, and had almost died for it in the most horrible way possible. 

His chest hitched with a sob, and he felt Will shift beside him. He was still there, a warm presence if nothing else. He had to speak, though. Tom had never been one to hold his tongue, and now least of all. 

“Will?”

“Yes?” It didn’t sound judgemental. Sleepy, perhaps, but not the least bit annoyed. Tom let out a long breath that shuddered, Will’s pity and understanding finally ripping down the barrier that held back his shame.

“I’m sorry.” His voice cracked and shook and crumbled at last, spilling over into hot tears that slid down his cheeks and onto his lips and chin.

Suddenly, Will turned over and faced Tom, locking eyes with him. It seemed too quick for it to have been comfortable for his head or bandaged hand, but he didn't make a sound and raised his right hand to rest softly on Tom’s side while he hiccuped and did his best to hold back tears.

He blinked, cocking his head slightly in a confused expression. “Why?” He whispered. “Whatever for?”

“I-” he sniffed nearly undone by Will’s sympathy and unsure of how to untangle the knot of emotions. “I couldn’t do it, I got stabbed, and that’s the worst I think, not even a good way to go.” His words were running over one another, slurring into the next one, and his heart beat wouldn’t calm even as Will’s hand pressed firmly against his waist and he whispered soft, calming words. “I’m sorry, I shouldn't have chosen you, I thought it was easy, and it should have been me, but then you had to go on and I saw you when you came in and it looked bad. It should have been me, I’m sorry, I’m sor-”

“Tom!” It was sudden and sharper than his other words, and it surprised him enough that he grew silent and met Will’s worried gaze “Tom, what are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry. It didn’t work out right.”

He sighed and his hand moved up, over his shoulder and onto the back of his neck. It was warm and dry, calloused in some places. His breath hitched and Tom grew utterly still, hanging onto Will’s every word. “Has any of this gone the way we want it to? We weren't supposed to succeed, and we did.”

“You did.” He admitted, letting his breath go in a huff. “What a use I was, for dragging you all the way out there.”

Will took a moment and shut his eyes, his fingers drifting up into his hair. Tom could only watch, and allow the sensation to calm his hammering heart and ease the wave of panic. “No, no.” He began again, in a whisper. “We did it. You don’t know, Tom. You don’t know what happened to me after you, well, after I thought you died.”

“Oh.” He shivered once more, drew in a deep breath and let his limbs relax. Will was right, he told himself. It was all true. “Will you tell me?”

He sighed and shifted closer, his warm arms wrapping around Tom to pull him in. He didn’t move and watched in wonder as Will pressed his face into his shoulder. Will was happy and calm and content, so why could he not be as well? “In time. I don’t think the mission was ever meant to work. Can’t you be happy it did?” Will drew a shuddering breath between whispered words and raised his head suddenly, pressing a fast kiss to his forehead before Tom could pull away and respond. He lay there, perfectly still, listening in quiet amazement to Will’s words, shocked to silence as his heart beat against his ribs. “Can’t you be happy that we’re alive? Is that enough, or do you need a medal?”

Going limp with happiness, he managed a weak laugh. “I can’t help but think you just want to take mine and sell it for more wine.” The joke came easily enough, taking no thought at all, and he found that somewhat comforting. 

“Oh, shut up.” Will’s fingers curled into his hair, firm and present, but there was no pain, and Tom could not help but cherish the contact, humming happily into Will’s shoulder.

He could not find the energy to feel ashamed, and instead basked in the warm feeling of peace. After a moment, he pushed himself back to survey the whole scene, taking in Will’s face and body. He was whole and healing, tangled in the sheets, blinking back sleepily, even if his eyes didn’t focus quite right. That was when it began to sink in, at least a little bit. He’d made it, they both had. The road ahead would be rough and steep, but for now he and Will were together, and his brother was not far off. They were alive, they all were, and for a brief moment that was enough. He settled back down against “I am happy, Will. I’m happy you’re here with me.”

The reply took a moment to come, and he listened to the steady in and out of his own breathing, feeling the heat of Will’s body pressed against his. The world was beginning to feel very slow, the sheets pressed close amidst the peaceful warmth. “I am too, Tom. I am too.” He began to laugh, soft and helpless, and then Will was laughing too, their hands tangling together. There was nothing funny about it, or at least there shouldn’t have been, but the sense of relief was strong enough he had to let some of it go. So they laughed together, and laid together in the small bed, and felt alive until the heavy feeling of sleep once again overtook Tom’s senses and he lay back, still chuckling to himself. 

Beside him, the bed and sheets shifted as Will settled in. He grew very still, struggling even to concentrate on that, but in the end it did not matter. He was safe at last and healing despite the circumstances. William Schodielf was beside him, and the evening was dark and warm, and he was too comfortable to even begin to try and keep his eyes open. So he rested his hand on his chest, the other tucked under Will’s neck, and breathed deep and let his slip gently into a pool of peaceful dreams.


End file.
